


of Rain and Wine and Misunderstandings

by JamieisClassic



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Drunkenness, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieisClassic/pseuds/JamieisClassic
Summary: Anduin's not having a great day, and when he stumbled up to his office from the tavern to find the mage he may or may not have a crush on standing there in the rain, he isn't sure if it's about to get better or worse. (Spoiler alter: it gets better)aka the Dragon Age: Inquisition au/crossover no one asked for because I couldn't stop myself
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	of Rain and Wine and Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> So like... this is not well planned out and the AU is only _barely_ formed so please don't be too harsh lmao. I'm mostly posting to see if anyone is interested in this sort of crossover bc I might play around with it as a fully fleshed-out AU but... then again maybe not. Don't judge me, I'm not used to writing short things or cute things or this ship (and especially not Wrathion) so just please be gentle?

“Right so it’s ‘fu’,” Wrathion made a motion for Anduin to follow along. 

Rolling his eyes, he repeated the sound, “Fu.” 

“Ck.”

“No.”

Wrathion huffed, “Funo is not a word, my dear commander. If you insist on being so droll perhaps I’ll take my wisdom and great teachings elsewhere.”

“No, you won’t. I just won,” Anduin said flatly, motioning to the game board before them. 

Wrathion looked down, brows furrowed, “Fuck.” 

He snorted. “You’re too crass for my liking, I don’t know why I spend time with you.”

“Because I’m the only person on this Light-forsaken mountain that could ever hope to beat you, and you’re too much of a masochist to enjoy an easy battle,” Wrathion replied, smirking.

“Well, that and I’d miss your acidic tongue, of course,” he drawled sarcastically, and if he wasn’t mistaken he caught a slight darkening of the man’s cheeks.

“I am rather talented with it yes, not that you’ve given me the opportunity to properly introduce you.” Wrathion winked, and Anduin felt himself blushing in a way that would be much more obvious beneath his pale skin. 

A throat cleared next to them made him jump and he turned to see the Inquisitor of the Holy Light standing there with just the faintest hint of a glare in Wrathion’s direction in her eyes. “If I could have a word, Commander Anduin?” she asked not-impolitely.

“Of course, Inquisitor, how can I help?” he said, making to stand but stopping when Wrathion held out a hand. 

“I’ll be off then, I was losing anyway. Good day, Inquisitor. Commander.” His voice was easy but his smile tense as he stood, bowed slightly, and headed back to the library where he’d set up shop. 

The Inquisitor brightened, blue eyes sparkling as she swooped in to take Wrathion’s seat and Anduin couldn’t help but feel like his nice view had been replaced with a wooden board hastily painted to look like it, then shook himself of the thought. The Inquisitor was a beautiful woman, what was he even thinking? But the idea lingered, as did the image of Wrathion’s tense smile from when he’d left. 

She was here to talk about lyrium supply lines and how the new Templars were faring coming off it, those whose chose to anyhow, and asking him about how their newly acquired troops were doing in their training. For all she was easy to talk to, he knew there was something else, something more she wanted to talk about, and he couldn’t help but feel impatient she wasn’t getting to the point. Finally, she put her hand over his arms and lowered her voice. 

“There’s something else, Anduin. I did an inquiry into your father’s death and… well if some reports are to be believed he may have been sent to the Fade instead of simply killed. I took the initiative of inquiring with Alleria about the matter and she seems to be of the opinion that he would almost certainly have died, but she isn’t Stormwindian like us, she doesn’t know who he was the way we do,” she said it all with a grin that showed how  _ good _ she thought this news was, but it only served to sicken his stomach. 

“That’s wonderful!” he replied with as much enthusiasm as he could after being given the knowledge that his father could be stuck in what was essentially eternal torment, neither able to escape nor die.

“I thought so. Imagine how amazing it would be for our morale if we were able to find a way to bring him back! Or at the least contact him!” she continued, and Anduin’s guts turned to ice. 

His father had died a hero, a saviour of his people that brought about the end of the Archdemon in Stormwind years ago when Anduin was but a young Templar, bright-eyed and so convinced that what he was doing was right. The last thing he wanted was for Varian to return just to see what a failure he had been, to see how easily he’d trusted his charges to the will of Sylvanas in Arathi, how easily he’d been herded like a sheep into her whims. No, if his father could see what Anduin had done, the mistakes he’d made, he would spit on him, and the last thing Anduin needed was to have one more person who he loved he disappointed in him. 

“You don’t look happy,” the Inquisitor said, interrupting his thoughts, “Don’t you want to see him again?” 

“I fear he would only be disappointed,” Anduin admitted, and she snorted.

“Oh come on, Anduin, he would be proud of you! Look at all we’ve accomplished! Look at all the good you’ve done, all the help you’ve been to the recovering Templars! You have done such good things here there’s no way he’d be disappointed!” she insisted, gripping his forearm all the tighter. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” he replied, managing a shaky smile, “Now I do apologize, Inquisitor, but I really ought to go finish some reports on troop movements through the Hinterlands for Valeera.” 

He caught her frown in his periphery as he fled, not bothering to pack up his chessboard even as he left, and he felt like he didn’t breathe a single breath until he made it back to the safety of his office. Barring both doors, he sat heavily in his desk chair and pulled out his box of lyrium, hands and breath shaking as he considered it. No,  _ no, _ he’d been so good to stay away from it and it was safer, healthier for him off of it, but… NO! 

Throwing the box across the room, he stood and fled the room, not bothering to lock it behind him. If someone wanted to stumble in and witness his shame that was their right and the least of what he deserved for his near slip-up. He stalked down the battlements to the tavern, practically falling down the steps in his haste to make it to the bottom, and bursting into the bustling room to thankfully little fanfare and headed straight for the bar. 

“Something strong. Real strong,” he ordered to the barkeep, placing a palmful of silver on the counter and hoping it was adequate to express his need. 

The dwarven woman there took his coin and handed him a tankard with a mildly apologetic expression, the kind that said ‘don’t be mad at me when this evaporates your esophagus’ and he gave her a nod of thanks. Before he could start drinking though, a familiar voice interrupted from his right. 

“Ya be wantin’ to talk about it, mon?” Zekhan asked from two seats down where he was picking up a tray of drinks. 

“Not particularly,” he replied, picking up his mug and turning to find a table, perhaps on the second floor where he wouldn’t be bothered. 

“Well, even if dat be da case, ya should be drinking wit us at da least,” he motioned toward Saurfang and his small troop of mercs, “Not so good ta be nursin’ wounds like dat all on ya own.” 

Anduin could see from his expression that he was speaking from experience, and while he knew little of the man and his history, he found he trusted Saurfang’s second in command, at least enough to drink with him. With a sigh, he nodded, following Zekhan to the ring of chairs where Saurfang sat with his band of mercs, currently joined by one Flynn Fairwind, ex-pirate and storyteller extraordinaire, who was weaving a tale of some sort about a ship boarding gone wrong that ended with him tied up naked in the captain’s quarters. 

Though he sat quietly and didn’t honestly listen all that closely, he did find the warm bodies and joyous laughter around him helped to lighten his mood into a softer alcoholic haze then the deep darkness such liquor usually brought. By the time his cup was empty, his head felt equally so, and without quite realizing what he was doing he passed out on someone’s shoulder. A jostle to his arm woke him, and when he cracked his eyes open a not-unhappy-looking Saurfang was staring down at him.

“I think it’s time you found your way to bed, commander,” the man said, deep voice calming to the migraine building behind Anduin’s eyes. 

“Oh, yeah. Light, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he replied, trying to stand but finding the world still a little upended from the drink. 

Saurfang steadied him as he stumbled, chuckling, and when his feet were back under him asked, “You going to make it to your office alright? I can take you if not, I don’t mind.” 

“Ah, thank you but no, I will be alright.” He gave the man a friendly nod, trying to ignore the way the size of his hands made his cheeks warm, and headed out of the tavern. 

It was pouring — he supposed it was a good indication that spring was well and truly upon them that it was rain instead of the slush they’d suffered the past month or so — and he made his way up the stairs to the battlements in a hurry, not wanting to get too absolutely soaked. As he neared his office he noticed a shape lurking outside his door and was thankful for the clamour of the rain which at least somewhat covered the sound of his footsteps as he crept closer as silently as someone with no training and plate armour could. When he was close enough to see the shape more clearly, though, he relaxed, then tensed again. 

Wrathion was standing there, no threat to him, but the man was wearing nothing but his regular coat and was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, swaying. Not good, not good at all. Whether dragon-blood mages could get colds he wasn’t sure, but he knew the man had been trying to keep off the drink and seeing him there, so sloshed the rain wasn’t occurring to him, was hurting his heart. With a sigh, he rushed forward and took off his cape, draping it around Wrathion’s shoulders and guiding him into his office. 

The man looked up at him in surprise. “You weren’t ignoring me,” he said distantly, only seeming to half see Anduin as if waking from a dream, “Oh, it’s raining out.” 

Anduin sighed, “Let’s get you inside before you get sick.”

“Dragons don’t get sick,” Wrathion argued, then promptly sneezed. Well, so much for that hope. 

“Yes, yes, well I don’t think they like getting wet either, so let’s go in,” he said, holding back another sigh, “Why didn’t you just try the door, it was open. Idiot.”

“You swore!” Wrathion sounded almost as smug as Anduin had sounded fond.

“Only because it’s true. You should take better care of yourself Wrath, what if I’d stayed in the tavern all night? What if I hadn’t come this way and hadn’t seen you here?” he demanded, worry making him terser than he was trying to be, but the man seemed too intoxicated to notice.

He waved a hand. “I would’ve been fine. Dragon’s don’t die from some rain.”

“You’re not a  _ dragon _ , Wrathion, you’re a man with dragon blood,” he reminded him, unsure what his insistence on this dragon business was. It was common knowledge that Wrathion was the last of his line of black dragon-blood mages, but he’d never been so insistent about it before. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was something else, but clearly the man felt the need to announce it, and loudly. 

Wrathion simply snorted. “Pish… maybe if I was a dragon you’d prefer me over her, though. Maybe that’s what it would take,” he murmured, words soft and slurred so much Anduin almost assumed he’d misheard but… Wrathion’s frown when the Inquisitor had come by, his tension whenever she was around. Her tension whenever he was around… Oh.

_ Oh. _

“You ridiculous man, jealous over someone I have no interest in,” he grumbled.

“But you spend time with her, you’re nice to her,” Wrathion argued, brows pinched together as he swayed on his feet.

Anduin couldn’t help but chuckle. “She’s my  _ boss _ , Wrathion, of course I’m polite to her. Do I need to remind you that I spend time with you and am nice to you as well?” 

Wrathion pursed his lips and looked to the side as if deep in thought, and Anduin could almost see the cogs turning in his head. As the confusion cleared and revelation took its place, however, Anduin got no time to explain further because Wrathion was grabbing him by the neck and tugging him into a kiss. 

The man was warm, hot even, to the touch and for all he wasn’t entirely sure that was how he felt about him, he couldn’t help the way he melted under his lips. It felt good to have him there, to have him close enough to hold and kiss, close enough to breathe in the smell of spice and paper and smoke that lingered on him, and Anduin was powerless to stop the instinctual arm he wrapped around Wrathion’s waist to pull him closer to his chest. Wrathion was taller, and he had to tip his head back and push up on his toes to kiss him when they were chest to chest, but he liked it, liked letting the man make him feel just a little bit small. He brought a hand up to cup the man’s cheek and pull him down into him, and was rewarded with a moan and a tongue pressing into his mouth. 

Light but he wanted nothing more than to never, ever stop kissing him, and as Wrathion’s tongue traced teasingly along the back of his teeth, he whimpered. Pulling him closer, he tried to reciprocate the action, tongue sliding along Wrathion’s and into his mouth, but before he could get farther than that the moment, for him at least, was shattered. Wrathion dropped the bottle he’d been holding onto, bringing his hand to Anduin’s belt, but the sound of it clanking empty on the floor reminded him of his drunkenness, of the fact that his tongue tasted of wine, and Anduin pushed him away, catching his hand before it made contact with his belt. 

“You’re drunk, Wrathion.”

He snorted. “A bottle of wine doesn’t make a dragon drunk.”

He tried to fight Anduin’s grip and reach for his belt anyway and Anduin pulled his hand back, raising it up so it was in line with his shoulder. “And how many bottles did you drink?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Wrathion raised three fingers of the hand Anduin was still gripping by the wrist before promptly dissolving into giggles. Drunk indeed. With a sigh, Anduin shifted forward, dropped his hand and threw the man over his shoulders. 

“Let’s get you upstairs, you need to sleep this off and I’m not hauling you in the rain back to wherever it is you sleep.” 

“Put me down this instant! No one carries a dragon, this is ridiculous! How  _ dare _ you, commander!” Wrathion protested, struggling, but Anduin held him in place.

“If you don’t stop squirming you’re going to get dropped when I climb up to the loft,” Anduin grumbled, “If you really want to sleep down here fine but I’m not going to carry you up if you change your mind in twenty minutes.” 

Wrathion sagged. “Fine, fine. But know that I don’t condone this undignified behaviour. I’ll get you back for it later.” 

“I’m sure you will.” He rolled his eyes and climbed up the ladder to the loft where he’d set up a simple bed and chest to serve as his bedroom. There was a small table that he’d placed his mother’s jewelry box on, and a case where he kept his last letter from his father. 

He deposited Wrathion softly on the bed, catching his head and lowering it down onto the pillow gently, then went about removing the man’s boots as well as his own, and taking off his armour. Wrathion was still soaked and the hay of his mattress wouldn’t be too happy about it but his blankets were wool and they’d keep them warm even if they were damp so he couldn’t find the energy to care. Once in an undershirt and trousers, what he typically wore to bed, be climbed onto the small mattress and pulled Wrathion close, revelling in his heat as he pulled the single, thin wool blanket over them. 

“Where’re the rest of your blankets?” Wrathion asked, words slurred with wine and sleep as he snuggled into Anduin’s body.

“I told the quartermaster to keep our soldiers warm first, and we don’t have the supplies for more yet,” he admitted and found himself strangely embarrassed. It was no bad thing to be humble enough to put your soldiers’ needs above your own, yet he felt like he would be judged or berated for not caring for himself nonetheless. 

But Wrathion just huffed a laugh into his hair. “You’re too good for me, you know, you deserve someone like her. Someone bright and kind who brings light to the world without setting it ablaze.” 

His voice was soft and sombre and, frankly, Anduin couldn’t disagree with him more. “I deserve someone who knows what it is to do wrong, to fail the people you’d sworn to protect, to be deluded into serving corruption under the guise of righteousness. You understand those things, she does not. She never will.” 

“Well, at least I can thank my father for this then, if you like me because I’m broken,” Wrathion joked, but Anduin could hear the bitterness beneath his words. 

He pulled away enough to face him in the gloom, the mage light that the Inquisitor had left there to keep the room somewhat lit illuminating the red of his eyes and the planes of his angular face. “You aren’t broken, Wrathion, you’re healing. And it’s an admirable and beautiful thing to watch.”

Wrathion giggled. “You called me beautiful.”

Sighing, Anduin flopped back down on the bed and pulled Wrathion close once again. “Go to sleep, you’re still drunk.” 

He’d assumed the man would protest, but before he knew it Wrathion was breathing deep and even and Anduin found himself drifting to sleep as well, warm for the first time since they’d arrived on the mountain months ago. After all, who needed a heavier blanket when you had a dragon? 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the idea and would be interested in me actually developing it let me know! No promises but I'm thinking about it (blame it on the blogs in my orbit that have been posting about Dragon Age recently or something idk)
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, kudos and comments mean the world ❤❤❤


End file.
